by Beverly Rae
“No? Then what kind of murderers do you mean?” I noticed a younger couple taking a stroll coming up the sidewalk. Nearing the house, they picked up speed and hurried past it.
“Don’t play games with me, girlie. Like I said, I know what you are.”
He was a cool old coot. I hoped I’d be that cool when I reached his age. If I reached his age. “Sorry. Why don’t you tell me what you saw?”
“Good ’nuff. I saw a ghost, a vamp, and some other man I think was a ghoul go inside. Then I heard a whole lot of shouting and banging going on.”
A ghost, a vamp, and a ghoul? It had to have been Michael and his friends. What irked me the most was how this old sod had spotted Michael for a ghoul within a few minutes of seeing him and I, a trained Protector, hadn’t believed my own eyes. Had I overlooked Michael because of his relationship to Blake? Why else wouldn’t I have recognized him for what he was? Shit, I’d given a whole new meaning to the phrase “blinded by love”.
“Was there a beautiful blonde female with them?” If the murderers were the Otherworlders I’d seen at the bar with Michael, then I wanted to know if his girl-fiend had come along for the fun.
“No. No females.” His dark eyes, sunken into his wrinkled face, locked onto me. “Was there supposed to be one?”
I shook my head and guided him back to his story. “Not necessarily. Go on.”
“Well, I could hear them even with my pitiful hearing. Deaf in one ear, I am. At any rate, I heard them shouting about a bracelet of some kind. Then I heard screaming and blood splattering on the window. After it got quiet, I saw the ghoul-man pick up a television and smash it to the floor. Damn shame to waste a fine television set.”
Was Michael the ghoul-man? From what Gramps had said, Michael had known the Bracelet was in the set. But had he found the Bracelet? “What did the ghoul-man look like?”
Clem coughed up another wad of gunk. “Good-looking fella with dark hair, muscled body. In fact, he looked a lot like the photo you have on your keychain.”
I’d forgotten about my keys and keychain I still held in my hand. In a sentimental move, I’d attached a small photo charm with Blake’s picture to the chain. “He looked like this man?” I held the picture closer to Clem in a desperate hope of changing his mind.
“Girlie, my hearing may be bad, but my eyes are as good as they ever were. The ghoul-man wasn’t this man, but damn close. Brotherly close, if you know what I mean. The man on your keychain came later on. A little while ago, in fact.”
My throat clogged and my stomach sank, leaving barely enough room to get air in and out of my lungs. Again, I held up my keychain for him to study, but I could tell by the expression in his eyes he wasn’t mistaken. “This man? He was here today?” I swallowed and asked the question I didn’t want answered. “He wasn’t with the others you saw before?”
“Nope. He wasn’t one of them.” Compassion wafted from Clem to me and I knew he was happy to confirm Blake’s absence at the murders. The nearly hundred-year-old man could read me like a signpost. “He strolled around the house like you did. Like he was searching for something.”
I stood quickly, unable to bear hearing anything more. “Thanks, Clem. I appreciate your help.” Without shaking his hand, I bolted down the steps.
“No problem, girlie.”
I was halfway down the sidewalk when I turned to ask a final question. “Did you tell the police all this?”
His gravely chuckle was low and soft. “What for? Would they have believed me?”
The old man was indeed a wise man. “Not a chance.”
His gaze darted away from me. Something behind me had caught his eye. “Girlie, did you mean female human or female creature?”
The message in his eyes was unmistakable. “Turn around. Now.” I whirled around in time to see a white werewolf—the white werewolf that had attacked me outside the bar—dart around the corner of the house and out of sight.
Honey, Whose Blonde Fur is on Your Collar?
Lots of people have hard days at work. But I doubted their worst day was ever as bad as the day I’d just experienced.
What had happened to my life? I’d been enjoying my new role as a newlywed with a stable, financially and physically well-off, handsome investment analyst. A few short days later and my world had flipped over, turning everything I knew upside down.
Instead of wondering what to feed my wonderful hubby for dinner, I had to wonder if my husband was mixed up in an Otherworldly murder. Instead of scouring the sexy lingerie at a trendy new boutique, I was searching for the powerful weapon a high demon lord could use against mankind. And, as if that weren’t enough, I had a brother-in-law who was not only a ghoul, but a dismembering cannibal. Could things get any worse?
Unfortunately, they could.
Not only did I have the pressure of trying to stop a demon from gaining world-wide control, I had to come to terms with my less-than-acceptable new relative. On top of that, I no longer trusted my husband and wondered if he might be a preternatural being like his brother. I pictured the upcoming holiday season and couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious. With Brother Ghoul and drunk Uncle Lou at the same table, Thanksgiving dinners were bound to get ugly.
My life sucked. Big time.
I pulled into my driveway, debated my options, and wished I could pack away all my troubles once I walked into the house. Even Partner picked up on my mood, remaining silent on the way home instead of complaining.
Slamming the driver’s side door, I stomped around the rear of the car. But I didn’t get very far.
“Yoo-hoo, Jenny, honey!”
I paused for a second, gritted my teeth at the sound of Mrs. Hardgrave’s voice, and started walking again. Unbelievably, my life had taken yet another nosedive. Could I ignore her? No doubt the busybody had something juicy to tell me and wouldn’t let me get away. Otherwise, she’d never have bothered to speak to me in the first place.
“Jenny! Jenny, I know you heard me.”
Had I thought my life sucked before? Well, now it sucked double time. I closed my eyes and gathered my strength, forcing myself to be polite. I faked the biggest smile I could manage and turned around to find her dashing across my yard, full speed ahead.
“Hi, Mrs. Hardgrave. How are you?”
She grabbed my arm and nearly pulled me over, then tugged me to the other side of my car. Taking me with her, we ducked down.
“What the hell are you doing?” So much for politeness. I knew I shouldn’t lose it, but this broad had a way of bringing out the worst in me.
“There’s no need to cuss at me, Jenny.”
God, how I hated being called Jenny. Only my mother could get away with calling me by my childhood name. “I’m sorry, but I’m really tired and I want to go inside. Please excuse me—”
Instead of letting me go, however, she held on tighter. “No. You can’t.”
“I can’t what? Go inside my own home?”
“Exactly. You can’t go inside right now. Not before you know what you’re walking into, and not unless you plan on confronting him”—the look she gave me was fifty percent pity and fifty percent glee. Actually, make that twenty-five percent pity and seventy-five percent glee— “about her.”
Her? “Her who?” Okay, she had me. I didn’t want to go anywhere until I found out more information.
“Yes, her. Your handsome hubby is inside with a very exotic, very beautiful woman.” The glee part rose to ninety percent.
I couldn’t help but feel like she’d put extra emphasis on the beautiful part of her description. But I didn’t have time to worry about Mrs. Hardgrave’s personal digs at me. “Yeah? She’s probably a client.” Shit. My explanation sounded hollow even to my ears.
Mrs. H. snickered at my suggestion. “Oh, Jenny, honey. No client ever looked liked she does. Why, her gorgeous white-blonde hair is enough to pull men’s eyeballs right out of their sockets. Not to mention her incredible body.”
Blonde? I shook my head, want
ing to get rid of the idea creeping its way from my head to my heart. Mrs. H., however, took my refusal to mean something else.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Jenny.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I had the uneasy feeling that an unspoken not hung in the air after her sentence.
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. Perhaps she’s his sister?” If my explanation sounded hollow, hers sounded downright contrived.
I continued to fight the idea of the blonde woman with Michael being the same blonde visiting Blake. After all, the world was filled with gorgeous blondes. Unless… “Is anyone else with Blake?”
“Like who?”
“Like another man. One who looks a lot like Blake. He’s Blake’s brother and he has a blonde, um, lady friend.”
Mrs. H. wasn’t convinced. “I didn’t see anyone else with them.”
“Why are you peeping into my home, anyway?” I’d never challenged her about her snooping before now, but this was as good a time as any to start.
Mrs. H. stammered for a second before apparently deciding indignation was her best option. “I wasn’t peeping! I merely happened to be working in my garden and I happened to glance over at your house. Can I help it if the curtains were open?”
“You still didn’t have to watch, you know. You could’ve turned away and ignored what you’d seen.” My tone was harsh. I knew I was using her as a target for my frustration and my shot-to-hell-and-back nerves, but I didn’t care.
“Well, since you obviously don’t appreciate me warning you about your husband’s wandering ways, I’ll let you handle it as best you see fit. Humph!”
She stormed off across the street to her house and I made no attempt to stop her. “Good riddance, you old snoop.”
A few weeks ago, if someone had told me I’d be sneaking up to my house to spy on my new husband entertaining a beautiful blonde woman, I’d have chalked their story up to one helluva night’s partying. Yet here I was tiptoeing up to the big window in the front, peeking around the window frame to catch Blake and Blondie together. Hopefully, not together-together, if you know what I mean. But after the events of recent days, I steeled myself to get ready for anything.
Blake and the woman were in the living room and, judging from the way she flung her arms around and their angry expressions, this was either a lovers’ quarrel or a business deal gone terribly wrong. My greatest wish at the moment was to have better hearing or single-paned windows. Neither one was about to happen, so I concentrated on trying to read their lips.
The blonde Angelina Jolie body double was fed up. About what, however, I had no clue. She moved around a lot, motioning with rapid arm and hand gestures.
Blake, on the other hand, stayed in one place. It seemed like he was imploring her to do something. Surely my sexy husband wasn’t begging her to sleep with him? Nah. After watching awhile longer, I dismissed my greatest fear. These two people weren’t sleeping with each other. In fact, I could tell they didn’t even like each other. But if I was right, what were they doing?
Blondelina turned toward the window. I gasped, ducked, and pressed my body against the wall. A newspaper landed at my feet, causing me to pivot enough to catch our newspaper man staring at me in concern.
“You okay, Mrs. Barrington?”
Startled, I pretended to search for something on the ground. “Oh, sure. I’m fine. I, uh, lost my earring.” When his brow furrowed more, I hurried on with my ruse. “In the garden. Uh, the last time I worked in my garden.” I tried adding a pitiful smile.
“Uh-huh.” He definitely hadn’t bought my story. “Want some help?”
“Oh, no, no. I’m fine.” Taking care to scoot to the other side of the window, I palmed a pebble off the ground, stood, and waved at him. “Found it.”
He nodded and continued on his way.
“I am such a liar.”
“That you are, m’dear. That you are.”
I jumped again, away from the window, and landed on my butt. Which also had me nearly landing on a scowling imp. “Ow! Dammit! What are you doing in my yard?”
His tiny body was no more than the size of a leaf on my rose bush. In fact, he stared up at me from behind a red rose. Wiggling his elfish ears, he shook his finger at me. “Watch where you sit yer big ass, why don’t ya?”
Could this day get any worse? I definitely wasn’t in the mood to mess with one of the tiniest demons-slash-faeries around. The imp spread a mischievous grin across his face and danced around me, naked and flashing every part of his body. “Go away, little man, before I sit on you again,” I hissed. I checked again just to be sure. Yep, that was a very miniscule and very erect pee-pee, all right.
“And what if I don’t?” He twirled, then darted between my legs. “I’m thinking I’d enjoy a bit of fun with you.”
“Trust me, squirt, I’m not in a fun kind of mood.”
“Oh, no? Because yer oaf of a man is fooling around with the blonde bitch?” He whooped and hollered, accentuating his remarks by jabbing a finger into my ankle. “Not married even a year and already yer man’s cheating on ya.”
I reached out to scoop him up and missed. “He’s not cheating on me.”
“Then what’s he doing with her?”
The way he’d said the word “her” spoke volumes. “Do you know her?”
His titters set my already frayed nerves on edge. “Do I know her? Do I know her?” Skipping, he continued his harangue. “Of course, I know her. The puzzle is that you don’t. Especially since yer husband sure does. Hehehehehe!”
I’d had enough. Scrambling to my feet, I left the imp jumping over a twig, singing his heart out, and headed for the front door.
“Hey! Where ya going? I’m not finished discussing yer lover’s straying!”
Later, when the mystery of the Bracelet was solved and my life returned to normal—or what used to pass for normal—I’d exterminate every single imp in my garden. One thing I knew for a fact. Where there was one imp, there were a hundred more you didn’t see. Like cockroaches, they bred quickly and infested gardens.
When I burst through the door and into the living room, I was ready to call Blondelina out at high noon. With or without pistols. I’d built up a solid head of steam and was ready to boil her alive. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the fight I wanted.
Instead, I found Blake relaxing on the sofa with a book I’d bought for myself—like I could ever find time to read—but which he’d already picked up and started reading a week earlier. Unlike most men, Blake was secure in his masculinity and had no problems reading a romance novel.
He paused and glanced up at me. “Hi, Jenn. How was your day?”
It was a joke. It had to be. I inspected the living room and checked behind the sofa. Blondelina was gone. “Uh, fine. And yours?” Confused, I headed for the kitchen, hoping I’d find her hiding under the sink.
“Good. Hey, where’re you going?”
I darted into the kitchen, looked in the pantry and under the sink, but she wasn’t around. Instead, a blur caught my eye outside the bay window and I drew closer to see. Blondelina whisked across the yard, heading for our privacy fence.
I had her now. Only an Olympic athlete with a pole could jump our tall fence. Believe me, I’ve tried. Yet I was in for a surprise.
Her body morphed, dropping onto all fours and elongating. Blondelina changed into the white werewolf I’d seen twice before. In a fluid motion, she crouched and leapt over the fence.
I didn’t confront Blake about the woman shifter. After watching her transform, I returned to the living room and studied my husband. He was still reading the book, completely entranced with the story. As though nothing unusual had happened, he lay spread out on the sofa, laughing. Worn out mentally and physically, I plopped down on the arm chair next to the couch.
“Good book?” I couldn’t have mustered up more than those two words if I’d needed them to save my life. Slumping into the comfort of the cushions, I closed my eyes and willed myself to think. Not on
ly was my brother-in-law a ghoul, but my husband had something going on with the werewolf who’d tried to kill me. This begged questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answered. Did my husband know the woman was a shifter? Did he know she’d tried to kill me?
“Yeah, it is. It’s really good. This book has humor, action, and a love story.”
“Hmm.” The book sounded like my life except the heroine would more than likely have a happy ending. Me with a happily ever after? Far from guaranteed.
Blake, however, took my less-than-enthusiastic response and ran with it. “Yeah. And it’s a paranormal story, too.”
“Oh?” Anger started boosting my energy level again. I narrowed my eyes, hoping Blake would see the look and ask what he’d done wrong. Then I’d confront him. Oh, nothing much, Blake. Unless you count cavorting with a shifter who tried to rip out my throat as doing something wrong.
“You’d like it, too. The story involves an intuitive matchmaker. She can tell a person the name of their soul mate simply by touching them.” He held the cover up for me to see. “It’s called Touch Me.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Was he trying to bait me? Give me a hint? The churning inside me wanted him to confess everything. Yet another part of me didn’t think I could handle it. I decided on a compromise. “How’s business, Blake?”
He lowered the book to gaze at me with those sensual, emotional gray eyes. “Fine.”
“Did you have anything unusual happen today? Like maybe a visitor?”
Those deep soulful eyes clouded over with worry. “Unusual? No. I go to my clients, not the other way around, remember?”
“Oh, right. Silly me.” For the life of me—sheesh, there’s a crappy phrase—I couldn’t dredge up a smile. Instead, I simply nodded. Unless I wanted to explain to him where I’d seen the woman before, I had to keep my yap shut. “No one came here today, huh?” Great, Jenn. Great way to keep the trap shut.
“No. No one was here. Why do you ask?” The worry in his eyes deepened, but his expression remained neutral.
If I wanted to confront him, now was the time. But I couldn’t do it. “No reason.” I shrugged and glanced away.
